


Cocaine Makes Everything Better (Not Really)

by JohnlockedDancer



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon Age, Canonical Drug Use, Dairy - Freeform, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Exception, Fear, Fear of Rejection, Gay, Heartache, Heavy Angst, Holmes needs a hug, Hurt No Comfort, I can’t believe no one else is using this tag, I gave myself feels, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Inserted Quote, Is the best, John Watson - Freeform, Journal, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mentioned Irene Adler, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Actually Unrequited, Not Actually Unrequited Love, OR IS IT, POV First Person, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pain Train, Period-Typical Homophobia, Poor thing, R&R, Romance, SO, Sad Ending, Short, Short One Shot, Sort Of, Suffering, The Woman - Freeform, Unhappy Ending, What Have I Done, Writing, Yaoi, angst ahoy, another - Freeform, at least, because, canonical, don't do drugs, emotional fear, first, gay all the way, i think, in the, is an idiot as well, it's canonical, john watson mentioned, missing pages, musings, please, please read and review, sad love story, short and sad, trigger warning, unestablished, very short, writings, written in English
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 02:29:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21366688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnlockedDancer/pseuds/JohnlockedDancer
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is pouring his heart out (on paper).
Kudos: 6





	Cocaine Makes Everything Better (Not Really)

I do not intend for anyone to ever find this piece of writing. Why, I never intended to write anything like it in the first place. Dear God, what if Watson finds it? God forbid me if he do. No matter, I must pour it out somehow for I fear, that I might burst if I do not. Sentiment. Yes, I do despise sentiment. And yet, as I have stated before: once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.  
Watson. My Boswell and dearest companion. He thinks of me as a machine. And yet, I have let slip many times, too many times, that my feelings for him goes deeper than they should.  
Watson still mentions The Woman sometimes. I have told him, that I do not feel anything akin to love for her. It's pure admiration for her cleverness. And yet, my dear Watson insists that she is "the one", as he puts it, for me. No, Watson. You're wrong. You are the one for me. Why won't you understand? Sentiment. I despise sentiment. And yet, I love you, John H Watson.  
Now, I will put this paper somewhere safe. I won't burn it, no, for I must be able to read it whenever I reach the bottom of my sentiment pit. I will keep it close. I will keep it, where no one, but me, will ever think to look.  
Now, I shall go and fetch my cocaine bottle.


End file.
